Chapter Twenty One: Living or Dead?
Bam!
Harry landed heavily on his back for Merlin knew how many times that day.
"Come on, get up!" the grey haired vampire yelled happily, a maniacal grin hanging off his face. "I've not had so much fun for centuries. You're not spoiling it for me."
Harry bristled indignantly as he scrambled up from the floor, drenched in sweat and blood. His entire back was bruised from that back slam. He shrugged of the pain with a flinch.
"That's my boy. Again!"
Harry charged, swinging his fist madly with a total lack of style, and the vampire slapped off his blows as if they were flies.
"How many times have I told you," he boomed, with a hint of impatience, "you're a bloody wizard, use your magic."
Bam!
Harry ended up on the floor, again.
"Your recovery is remarkable even by an Immortal's standard," the Vampire exclaimed, clearly enjoying the pain he was causing as he suckled on a bloodied finger – Harry's blood. The wizard boy ignored him. Resolutely he performed a spinning kick, still out of style, but this time a little magic went into the kick. His foot, a grayish blur of shadow, slammed into the other's chest, sending him flying across the room landing in a crumpled heap.
"Take that!" Harry did a back flip, almost slipping as he landed awkwardly. The Vampire stood up with a resigned smile. Faster than a shadow he struck, his fist impacting precisely with Harry's stomach. The boy collapsed again; he coughed, spraying the floor with unnaturally crimson blood. He only had a second to glare at the vampire before he fainted.
When he woke up again, Harry was in his own room.
The window was open. Stars sparkled at him. A night breeze drifted into the room, carrying an increasingly familiar bittersweet scent of decay. Food was laid out for him on a silver tray in a trolley – lamb chops bordering raw and wine that looked alarmingly like blood. His stomach rambled at the sight, reminding him that he hasn't eaten all day.
Someone has bathed him while he passed out. For the first time that day Harry felt dry, clean and relaxed. His legs felt like two blobs of cement, his knees tight like rusty screws. Yawning, he wolfed down the lamb, and progressed out of the room.
Vivien wasn't in the mansion. Nodding to several vampires, Harry drifted into one of the blood-red, archaic armchairs and allowed the memories of the past weeks flow by his eyes.
Viktor had promised him training the night they met, and he was true to his word.
Spending a day in solitude, that night he awoke to find a Vampire in his room. He was a heavily built, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Harry waited expectantly for the new vampire to speak, but the stranger ignored him. Shrugging, he took a shower in the bathroom next door and dressed, content to let the Vampire keep his silence if he wished. By then, he already understood enough about these bloodsuckers to know that they rarely talked, mostly communicating with their mind.
The Vampire hadn't even moved when Harry returned feeling refreshed and alive. He sat down opposite him and waited for the man to say something. The vampire held his gaze, unblinking. As any other of the immortals, he looked ageless. But Harry assumed that this man died young, no more than thirty years. His body was powerfully developed, yet not out of proportion. There was a feral calmness that echoed only one thing: danger. The Vampire observed Harry with an expression of apathy.
Harry looked back blankly, but this was more difficult to achieve without his magic shielding his emotions. He suddenly wondered whether this Vampire would move if he pinched him.
This mutual silence seemed to last for hours. The silence was killing him.He wondered if the Vampire was mute, or was he simply stupid and entered the wrong room. In any case he wasn't going to be the first person to speak if the Vampire didn't explain himself.
The vampire had patches of white hair sprinkled unevenly amidst a mass of shiny black hair. He probably got that before his 'death', since Vampires didn't age. He vampire looked battle-worn, with a scar across one eye and a piece of his left year is missing, and if Harry looked closely enough, he could see the bumpy skin of poorly-healed wounds on his chin. Finally, getting more and more bored, with less and less features to scrutinize, Harry decided to leave to find Vivien. The vampire can sit here all day and all night if he wished. Who cared anyway? He pushed himself up from the floor with a groan and headed for the door.
As soon as he stepped next to the Vampire, however, a claw like hand reached out and grabbed his left foot, hurling him to the floor.
Harry leaped up immediately. He glared at the Vampire, furious. But the Vampire was still sitting calmly, looking at him with a placid expression. With a scowl, Harry darted towards the door again.
Again the claw like hand reached out, but this time Harry was prepared. At the last second he jumped over the Vampire's sitting form gleafully towards the exit. The Vampire's eyes widened in surprise for a fraction of a second, then another hand shot out and grabbed his other heel midair.
Harry was thrown painfully onto the floor. His forehead banged painfully on the door and left him seeing silver Snitches dancing around his head. He groaned, his headache returning. When his head cleared, Harry glared at the vampire spitefully, only to find that the man was smiling.
"Very good Harry Potter," the voice was deep and echoing. "You may not be so much of a fighter, but you definitely have the spirit."
Harry was confused, but he didn't want to speak with this maniac anymore. He had got to where he wanted - next to the door. He crawled up painfully and reached out for the handle.
The next thing he felt was a hand jabbing roughly at his neck while another slashed at his thigh. In the blink of an eye he lost his balanced and collapsed stiffly to the left side, smashing his head into Vivien's favorite couch. His face was being pressed into the fabrics by the Vampire, and a foot was stamping his back so that he couldn't move.
"Don't. Turn. Your. Back. To. The. Enemy." said the Vampire, his voice exasperated. "How do you know I won't attack you while you are not watching."
"That's sneaky!" Harry gasped, struggling with the hand pressing him.
"Yes, it's sneaky, so what? It won't matter your opponent is dead. You're weak Harry Potter, very weak. I expect you to learn hard, or you won't survive whatever war with the Dark Lord." The man breathed and released him. Harry glared at him for a moment, while the vampire looked back impassive and turned, heading for the door, muttering. "But I will teach you how to fight. I expect you to wake at 9 o'clock every night and prepare yoursel – OH!"
His words were cut off as Harry slammed his shoulder into him with all his might. The vampire was pushed flat against the door and then slipped onto the floor. Harry stepped a foot on the vampire's neck.
"What happened to not turning your back on your opponent?" Harry taunted, and in a flash, the Vampire threw him off his back. Harry was on the floor again, with his foot twisted painfully. The Vampire smiled.
"You learn fast, Harry Potter. I'll enjoy teaching you. My name is Magnus."
Nervously, Harry smiled back.
For the rest of the night, Magnus showed Harry the underground training area. There were zones to practice shooting, but that wasn't Magnus's job. His job was to train Harry how to fight, including fencing, martial arts, and the skill of making use of anything around him as a deadly weapon.
They spent the night getting an overview of melee combat. They talked about Harry's physical shape, which Magnus said was "not bad, but not good enough." Apparently, while his Magic dragged him back to life, it also took the chance to fix everything wrong with his body. His Magic corrected his eyesight and even increased his height a little for him to be more proportional. But this wasn't enough. He couldn't even lift up a regular sword or hold a shield without shaking.
"Punching is easy as long as you have hard fists, finishing off someone with one punch is hard. Cutting someone is easy if you have a sharp sword, but cutting off his head with one stroke is not something everybody can do," Magnus had explained. "You can learn these techniques, but first, you need your strength."
So they spent the next 4 hours making up plans for him to balance out his training. He had growth potions helping him to grow so that with enough intensive working out, his muscles should grow several times faster than normal. Magnus also gave him a slight zip of his own blood – so that some degree of vampire traits might be passed into him. The potion and blood together might eventually cost him a dozen years of life, but Harry really wasn't bothered about that. Besides, he wasn't even sure if he could die, the demon's magic making him – as he instinctually knew – effectively immortal.
Magnus had an interesting history. He was one of the oldest of Vampires, if not as old as Viktor. In life he had been a Roman Gladiator, one of the youngest and one of the best. Unfortunately, a high-class fighter like him was easy to be dragged into conspiracy, and he was poisoned before a match so he couldn't fight. It was the fist match he lost and the last. They left his body there, bleeding to death and burning with fever. But that night, the fabled Osiris visited him and turned him into an immortal. He gave him the strength to revenge, and deadlier weapon to hunt. The gladiator enjoyed warfare and bloodshed. He had fought in the Thirty-Year's War, he had fought in the First and Second World War. Now, as he said, he was ready to fight in the Second Wizard's War.
They really didn't get to do much that night, given that by the time Magnus finished his introduction, dawn wasn't far off. Magnus only had a few hours before he was to rest for the day. For the remainder of the time, he mostly gave Harry tips on how to protect himself, such as keeping an eye on his surroundings all the time. It was all stuff that Harry had already known, and Magnus was like the Vampire equivalent of Mad Eye Moody. The lesson was finished quickly, giving them two hours left for idle chitchat.
"Tell me, Magnus, why are you teaching me? I mean, I'm sure there are loads of young Vampires who are dying to learn from you. What makes you think I can make it? I can't keep up with your Vampire speed or strength. Why shouldn't I just stick to magic?"
Magnus looked at Harry, complete seriousness in his eyes.
"I understand why you doubt yourself, an average Vampire is four times as strong as a human and 10 times as fast. We elders are even stronger. But I'm telling you this – have confidence in yourself. I was sixteen when I had my first kill. Before that I couldn't even kill a chicken. I can tell a warrior when I see one. Besides, Viktor knows what he's doing. He performed some sort of test on you – don't ask me what, I'm not that great with magic although I'm magical – and the test result showed that your body is changing. I didn't understand what he meant, and I'm not that great with the mind reading stuff either. But I can see that you're different. Even now, as we talk, I feel something festering in you, like an caged animal, seeking to break out, changing you in the process. To what? I don't know, but your reflex is way above mortal average. This alone means that you're made to be a fighter."
He paused, staring at a point on the wall.
"The other reason is that I have faith in you. We all do. It's strange to place our hope in a mortal, but we and we alone have seen your potentials. I watched how you struggle with death, how you pulled yourself away from the hands of God. If there is someone to bring down the Dark Lord it is you, Harry Potter. I've seen him, that monster, and ashamed I am to say that I fear him. His power is unimaginable, he could destroy me with a finger if he wished. But you will fight him, and you will beat him. For this, we help you. I am a brute, Harry Potter, a damned brutal barbarian who can't even read properly after living for two thousand years. I can't give you much; you might be best in waving that stick of yours, but if you study from me, you can still be the best even without that stick. I'll make damn sure you are."
Harry didn't know what to say, he stared quietly at Magnus for a while, contemplating his thoughts. There was only one thing he could say.
"I promise that I will do my best."
Magnus laughed roughly.
"No Harry Potter. You'll do my best. Get some rest tonight. Tomorrow, I'll make your precious mortal life hell."
With that, he left. And so begins Harry's time in hell.
It had been some weeks since first meeting Magnus, or rather he thought it was weeks. Time really had no meaning here. With the immortals, a day might well have been an eternity.
Since that day, Harry learned from Magnus a range of fighting techniques. The vampire didn't teach him martial arts like he expected. He was more concerned with turning Harry into a killing machine, telling him how to hit, where to hit, and how to finish off an opponent with one blow. Magnus had taught him how to use daily object as weapons. A matchstick for example, could become a deadly weapon if you stuck it into the opponent's eye. There really was no style involved in Magnus' fighting methods. It was quick, violent, and bloody. Nothing more, nothing less, but he enjoyed it.
There were also crucial tips that sounded almost philosophical. Magnus repeated said, for example, 'never fight a battle you can't win, when you meet someone stronger than you, run.' Harry thought it cowardly, Magnus called it intelligence.
And so their lessons continued day after day. Harry suffered through every single one of them. Potions could only help so much, and if he took too much of it, he might die. Right now, every movement he made gave a sharp jolt of pain in his muscles. It was painful in a strange way, resembling a burning sensation as if he was slowly roasted. Harry kept that in mind, wanting to ask Magnus the next day
That morning he had the dream again.
He dreamed of Vivien, she was touching him, running her icy hands freely along his chest, the chill giving him goosebumps. Her lips melted against his, her tongue darting at his like ice melting fire. He felt a familiar chilliness pressing against him, from chest to knees. He wasn't sure how long she had been on top of him when he suddenly yielded to the impulse to return her kiss hungrily, devouring her every breath of death. He felt her tense in surprise, and then a slow moan escaped her. She continued to kiss her way down his jaw, pushing his head down with a finger, telling him wordlessly to remain passive. She paid particular attention to the bruises, nipping and sucking them almost painfully before shifting her lips upward again. In response he ran his hands along her body, cupping a breast somewhat clumsily. Another contented whisper escaped her throat, making him shiver. Finally, his hand snaked its way to her inner thigh.
He'd been having this dream, morning after morning, ever since he got here. Sometimes he wondered if it was real, instead of just his hormones. Every time he tried to ask her, however, he would wake up. Dream or not, he enjoyed it, so very soon Harry learned to stop questioning.
His heartbeat sped up, bursting somewhere along his throat as she guided him in. His entire body was on fire, especially in his groin. It was the most strange and wonderful feeling, he felt like a ball of fire wrapped under layers of ice. She lifted a pair of hazy eyes to his, licking her lips. She continued to explore his warm body with her hands as their bodies rocked rhythmically together. Her lips wandered to his neck and as if under an irresistible urge she bit down with considerable force. He felt a jolt in his heart, as if his heart strings were being pulled, and then the numbing, electrifying sensation began to spread from his neck to the rest of his body. Her ecstasy became his pain, his blood mingled with hers. With a shudder and a moan he froze, while she collapsed on him, her lips still attached to his open wound. Soon, she was the one radiating the only warmth as he laid in a blissful trance, shivering involuntarily at the coldness in his limbs…
Harry awoke several hours later. Looking to his side he hoped to make out the shape of Vivien's naked body, to feel the lingering warmth of his life, and smell the bittersweet of his blood.
But she wasn't there. It was just a dream then; he smiled to himself and welcomed the darkness to take him again.
Few people in the world knew where St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies really was. They knew how to get there: via floo, or through the door concealed in a shop window on a muggle street, Apparate … but few actually questioned where the building was located. Most people simply assumed that it was somehow squeezed in central London. Those who didn't buy the fairytale were silenced immediately. It was supposed to be a secret, one that only the selected few should know.
In reality, St Mungo's hospital building was situated in a little river valley in the Pennines. Visitors were teleported from particular entrance points scattered across London into the hospital building. It was complicated magic, involving in the careful manipulation of time and space, and it ensured the so-called absolute secrecy.
Right at this moment, the hospital was rendered inaccessible to outsiders. The floo links were cut off, anti-apparation charms were cast, and entrance points were sealed. The hospital building – which had recently undergone careful renovation that involved in replacing the wooden structure with concrete – was engulfed in a gigantic pale shield set up but Silvia, so that from afar it appeared like a massive sand-castle wrapped in a giant bubble.
It took Silvia three days to set up that shield and a further two days to recover from it. According to her, it should hold intact for days, unless some Death Eater happened to know a powerful mining spell, or if Voldemort himself was here.
The Ministry of Magic received an ultimatum from the Dark Lord two weeks ago. The Ministry was to abandon its control over the British Magical Communities and a new system of government was to be set up under the guidelines set up by the Dark Lord. All Aurors were to be disarmed and dispatched to Azkaban. Naturally Dumbledore refused – he was practically running the country these days, the people around him could never understand where he got the energy from – but so now here they are, waiting for an attack, the first consequence of their "insubordination to the Dark Lord."
The Ministry of Magic emptied itself fort this operation. Severus Snape warned them of the Dark Lords of attack - St Mungo's. The hospital was too strategically important to be lost, so for now all patients were transferred to Hogwarts. Taking their place was every single active Aurors in nearby cities. Dumbledore had considered sending Order members, but in the end only Silvia came. The rest were scattered around in London protecting other vital places, and most importantly of all they had to protect Hogwarts.
So here they were, Silvia and Tonks, standing side by side, waiting for the inevitable struggle for their lives.
Dawn broke. They both took a deep breath.
Tonks took another deep breath, her hands squeezing tight around her wand. As Silvia said, courage was the best weapon they have now.
Gray mist covered the entire valley floor, thick, still, and impenetrable. It lay above the earth like a giant slug, itching inch by inch towards St Mungo's building. Light disappeared from the creeping mist, as if swallowed by the writhing darkness. More erratically it swirled, coming into contact with Silvia's Shield. The Shield surface bubbled like molten glass, but stood its ground. Beyond the shield, lines after lines of Aurors stood, waiting.
St Mungo's Hospital site had been magically modified for better defense. It was Silvia's idea. Strictly speaking it wasn't legal, and after all this fuss was over, they'd probably be in deep shit with the St Mungo's Legal Committee. But then, thought Tonks, their primary concern was to survive this day, instead of worrying about what those idiotic bureaucrats thought.
She was on the front line, flanked by Kingsley and another Auror she didn't know. Kingsley was staring down at the wiggly mist with grim determination. The dark-skinned wizard had tried to keep her inside the building with the reserve force. Tonks knew what he was trying to do – she was too young to die. But then, as she argued, this was war and they were soldiers. What were they to do if not die, while their leaders cowered behind?
Behind her and around her, fellow Aurors stood prepared, wands uptight in their hands, battle robes bluffing in the wind. They were spread in a step formation, each row stood on magically elevated ground higher than the one in front, forming a wall. Behind them all was the hospital building itself, rigid and aloof, their last refuge.
Silvia was standing among the top row, higher than everyone else. It put her into a much more vulnerable position, but it was necessary as she was the only one here capable of producing a shield that would cover them all while they fired spells behind it.
When the outer shield was breached, the attackers would be stalled by the new shield. This would buy them time to go into a counter offensive, either by pushing the enemy line out of the outer shield, or totally eradicating the first wave of attack. Silvia, mean while, would repair the Shields in preparation for new attacks. She had previously drowned herself with energy potion to keep her strengths up.
Theoretically this was how everything should work until they were driven into the building, in which case the reserve force would cast masses of explosion curse against anyone that approached the gate.
In reality, however, the Death Eaters seemed much smarter and unexpectedly stronger. It had been twenty minutes since the magical mist appeared, and all it did was to boil against the Outer Shield, tickling it rather than trying to dissolve it. It was as if the mist was merely to cover their sight, make them blind.
As the minutes slipped by and still the attack did not come, the less experienced Aurors began to fidget in the position restlessly. Tonks, although young, wasn't one of them. After all, she was trained by Alaster Moody, the Myth of modern Auror history. She knew enough to not loose her cool in this sort of situation. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on the mist.
But still the attack did not come.
It's been an hour now. The defenders of St. Mungo are waited, blind to whatever lay outside the shield.
Then everything grew silent.
It had been quiet before, but now it was unnatural silence, as if the world quenched its breath. Tonks felt her sense of unease settling into fear.
The mist began to clear. It diluted, growing paler and paler until amidst the grey tendrils of smoke, a giant, shadowy form was visible. The shadow had a serpentine neck, oversized torso and large, bat-like wings. At that moment color drain from her face.
The Death Eaters brought a dragon.
And it was a big one too.
The dragon was at least three times the size of an ordinary Hungarian Horntail. It remained a foreboding shadow. Gradually the mist disappeared, ant its terrible glory was revealed.
The dragon was milky white, had rippling fangs, a mass of tangling horns and impenetrable hide. When it opened its mouth, instead of fire, frost came busting out. Where the dragon breath touched, the Shield froze, now it resembling an icy eggshell.
The dragon studied the ice shield in front of it, and then with an almost comical look, reached out its front paw.
CRACK.
Their strongest defense was gone. Shattered. Vanished. And the battle hadn't even begun.
Someone behind Tonk's laughed. She felt like laughing too. Weeks of defense gone in the blink of an eye. With that beast there, none of their plans worked. They were all going to die, and no one, not even Dumbledore if he was here, could do anything about it.
A lot of them were laughing now, others crying. It was a pathetic demonstration of desperation. People lost the will to fight now, and this time Tonks couldn't say she wasn't one of them.
But Silvia wasn't laughing. Something was burning within her, and the others felt it too. The whites of her eyes were stained black. Power radiated from her, spiraling upwards like a tornado. Then, to everyone's astonishment, she launched herself into the air. Her robes were ripped to pieces instantly, burned to ash as she transformed. Wings sprouted from her back first, black, scaly, leathery wings. Her neck stretched, elongated. Her mouth opened up into a snout. Flecks of saliva dripped down from her fanged lower jaw, and where they touched, the ground fizzed. Her torso changed into the powerful body of a dragon, covered by glistening scales darker than midnight.
The Silvia-Dragon flipped her wings several times as if adjusting to her senses, and then she orientated herself towards the white dragon, and charged.
The Aurors were watching in silence. This was certainly a sudden change of event that nobody expected. Even the white dragon seemed surprised as it studied its new adversary. There was a morbid cheer as the Aurors watched the gigantic white dragon launching itself into the air with a powerful beat of its wings, slashing its powerful paw towards the small, black one.
As the dragons soared in the air, Death Eaters flooded into the crack in Silvia's shield. With renewed vigor, the Aurors turned to their battle.
The first wave of Death Eaters was chopped down like wheat as almost sixty cutting curses ripped into them. The floor instantly became a soup of human blood and body parts. The Aurors were at an advantage, as Death Eaters were still unable to break down Silvia's shield completely and rush in.
But then the second wave came.
Giants, armed with ballista-size crossbows.
Most Aurors reacted in time, summoning heavy, medieval style shields in front of them. The dozen that didn't were killed instantly, pinned to the ground, blood gurgling up their throat.
Auror wands screeched. Curses of a myriad of colours cut into the giants. One giant was down, its eye pierced by a spear head. The rest barely slowed. The Aurors shouted their spells again and again, and still the Giants came at them, their battle cry reverberating against valley walls. The sight of carnage filled them with a bloodthirsty euphoria.
Where the hell did Voldemort find so many giants? Tonks thought to herself as she, together with the eleven Aurors under her command, summoned huge blocks of rock to intercept the giants' progress towards their line. Giants were almost immune to spells, but physical attack worked very well on them.
They also had a slight advantage – the valley was narrow. The Giants were too big, and with a whole herd of them squashed across the Valley floor, the Death Eaters were blocked from the battle, outside the valley mouth where the Shield kept them at bay. Silvia's shield was incredibly strong. The constant volley of spells outside could only chip it away, bit by bit. It was only because of the shield that the Aurors weren't overwhelmed.
Yet some Death Eater rushed in, wands raised, their spells forming an intertwining net of blazing red fire, reducing everything in their way to ashes. At the front was Bellatrix Lestrange, her lips twisted into a sadistic grin.
With a distinct watery crunch, the giants crashed into the Auror line, their maces crashing skulls and limps into messy bits. Most of Aurors rolled aside, others reduced to a twitching mass of broken limbs. The line wavered, and fell back. Without Silvia raising a Shield, the Aurors were exposed, and the two dozens of Aurors at the front line soon became the subject to a bloody massacre.
Tonks had a broken arm. She thanked Moody silently for his old dragon-hide body amour. The body pieces made her more clumsy than usual, but it was only because of them that her arm survived. Kingsley did a quick bone-mending spell on her arm and then both rushed back to battle.
The sixty Aurors stationed outside the hospital buildings were all engaged in battle now. There were no more formations, nor more tactics. Against the pure brutal power of the giants, they were back to the Middle Age when wizards still fought with sword and staffs. Tonks had transformed her wand into a spear. She was at a relative advantage as Silvia had taught her some basic wandless magic. She was able to at least perform a weak Shield Charm that protected her from weaker spells while she plunged her spearhead deep into the soft spot under a Giant's armpit. The massive humanoid screamed in pain, fluttered its arms at her as if she was a bug it wanted to crush. At that moment Tonks saw her chance. She changed her spear back to her wand, and with a powerful Explosion charm, blew an arm sized hole in its eye.
Tonks was covered by blood and mud. The battle field around her had become a hellish scene of blood and dust. Spells whooshed around her, arrows soured past her head. The Aurors were fighting in desperation now. They've long past the stage of seeking survival, and now all they wanted was to go down in glory. Kingsley gave the command to retreat. The remaining thirty of so Aurors backed pace by pace towards the hospital building. Their first defense line was lost. Now they must make their stand right outside the hospital.
The reserve force rushed out, while Tonks and her thirty companions raced in. They might get twenty minutes of rest and healing time before the Death Eaters raced into the building. Tonks sighed as she undressed her left arm looking for the crudely mended wound. Whatever hope she had about her survival shattered completely. They were outnumbered and overpowered. The battle had become a fucking massacre.
While the battle raged below, Silvia and the Quicksilver were having their mind war above, and it was a completely different situation.
Quicksilver dragons were famous for their telepathic power and their Frost Breath. The bigger the dragon, usually, the stronger his mind attack was. This one in front of her right now was huge, and quite obviously, it wanted her dead.
Silvia's animagus form was an Arctic Blackfin, a rare breed that lived in extreme cold, usually spending ninety percent of their life in hibernation. They were small compared with other dragons, and their fire could melt almost everything, even diamonds. Silvia kept her Animagus form secret all her life, as magical animagus forms are extremely rare, and she didn't want to be pestered because of it. Now, however, she had just revealed herself to the entire Ministry law-enforcing force. If she survived this day, she would be in deep shit.
The two dragons circled each other. The Quicksilver's mind was locked onto hers as it tried to blast her mental defenses open. Silvia's mental shield held. The Quicksilver may be one of the most terrible creatures on earth, but she herself was an equally fearsome predator with a human mind skilled in Mind Magic – an even deadlier combination.
After trying to blast open her mind with no avail, the Quicksilver gave up this approach. It spread its wings wide and spiraled upwards at a breathtaking speed, smashing straight through her dome shaped shield that protected the hospital from the air. Silvia followed in pursuit. The Quicksilver turned, crushing into her with a deafening roar, its jaws opened wide, snapping at her neck. Silvia, being the smaller one, was much less cumbersome. She twisted away fluidly like a fish, and slashed her spiked tail at the Quicksilver, tearing across its face and left a deep scratch that run all the way from its eye down its muzzle, bleeding heavily. The while beast was dazzled for a moment, taking her chance, Silvia diverted her attention for a minute. She concentrated slightly, and the Shield below healed itself.
The Quicksilver roared, its horrid voice booming in the empty sky. The screamed seemed more out of pleasure than pain. Recovering almost instantly, the dragon plunged towards Silvia again. This time bluish grey mist exploded from its mouth like a blast of wind. The air around it froze instantly, all moisture condensed into hail. Silvia didn't have time to run. Acting out of instinct, she let out a blast of black flame. The dragon breathes met in mid air, white fire burning against a black one, each seeking to consume the others.
Soon it became a stagnant match of power and endurance. The two dragons hovered in mid air, gazing intently at each other, neither showing signs of weakness. For Silvia, she was suddenly thankful that she had forced down all those bottles of Strength potion. She was no where near tired yet, and the Quicksilver was bleeding rather badly. Sooner or later, it would give way.
Tonks was up and fighting again. Kingsley was a skilled wizard. He fixed her arm flawlessly and after an overdose of Strength potion, she was back standing, fresher than new. Strength potions were illegal for distribution. Usually even Aurors were forbidden to take it. The potion was too dangerous, for while it increased strength, stamina and rate of healing geometrically, the metabolism of the body was also quickened. Every hour under the potion was a year of normal life. Tonks knew this very clearly, but when fighting against giants, the flimsy state of man simply wasn't enough. They needed something more.
The Death Eaters weren't the problem. Dumbledore's protection charms saw to that. Any one with the Dark Mark became badly burnt when they approached the building too much. Bellatrix and her elite force withdrew from the battle sometimes ago. The rest were freshmen, nowhere close to the Aurors in might and less in experience. In any case, there weren't that many of them in the first place. It was the giants that mattered. Nothing seemed to work against those creatures. They learned fast, now protecting their eyes closely. All the Aurors could do was to slow them, not stop them. None of them had any strength left to perform the Avada Kedavra, which seemed to be the only magic that worked.
The sun was setting. Dark red clouds rolled on the horizon, stained red by the bloodshed. Wind swept across the valley floor, picking up dust and the scent of blood. Everything appeared morosely poetic under the dusty, glowing sky.
Tonks had contacted Dumbledore for help. The Hospital building must not be lost. If it fell into Death Eater hands, they could use the floo link and the Gateways to gain access to anywhere important in London.
But help wasn't coming. Dumbledore gave her a load of bullshit. Something about the very fact that none of Voldemort's Inner Circle was present was significant – the Dark Lord was waiting for his chance to attack else where, and as soon as Dumbledore showed up, he might seal this place and put Hogwarts under siege.
To defend against an illusory threat, therefore, he had to fight this battle until the last drop of Auror's blood.
They were on their own now. Eighty weary Aurors against forty giants and a dragon. Thinking of the dragon, Tonks raised her head to the sky. The dragons were little more than two distant stationary dots. She sincerely prayed for Silvia's victory. If the white dragon, one of those legendary Quicksilvers, apparently, joined the battle, then they would truly be doomed.
The Giants' rush tactic came anew, their maddened shrieks filling the entire valley, their booted foot crushing masses of bodies beneath them with brisk, sickening crunches. Auror wands whooshed, sending out spells that only managed to give them a skin burn. The attacking wave of Giants barely wavered before plunging into the Auror lines. Again, the Aurors summoned spiked metallic shields to push them back, matching brutal prowess with magic. A Giant hung impaled on a spike. The rest were forced back.
But still the Giants came.
Another Giant fell to the floor with a thud. Kingsley managed to trick it into stepping on a trapdoor on the ground. Immediately, flame shot up, roasting it alive.
That gave Tonks an idea: they were witches and wizards after all! What they could do was only limited by power and imagination. Power wasn't important for what she had in mind, so it was time to be creative.
Smoke, she thought. I need smoke.
She fought her way to Kingsley, who along with several others were trying to subdue another giant with Stunners after stunners. It wasn't working. Whatever Voldemort did to these giants, it made the incredibly resistant to standard Auror spells.
"Hey Tonks, don't just stand there." He grunted, jumping aside as the Giant tossed his empty crossbow at him. "We could use a little help here."
Tonks shot an arrow from her wand at the Giant. It embedded itself into the its leg, but was immediately swatted away like a mosquito.
"I got a plan." She panted. The Giant let out an enraged scream and made a grab for her head. She conveniently tripped at that moment, the scaly hands missing her by inches.
"What plan?" Kingsley gave her a quick sidelong glance. Another Giant joined this little brawl, and then another. Now they were seven versus three.
"Smoke, use smoke - " Tonks tripped again, and this time a spiked mace whooshed past her head. " – use smoke to confuse them. We might be able to do something then."
Kingsley nodded. He cast an Illusion Spell. A Giant swung his mace at the mirror image; the mace hit only thin air, and then crashed into another smaller Giant, right on the head. It went down like a collapsed tree.
"Where are you gonna get smoke anyway?" Kingsley shouted over the bellowing giants.
"We can burn furniture in the Hospital. A lot of them are made from Muggle plastic. Those things burn rather well," Tonks yelled back.
Kingsley snuck behind the body a dead giant, leaning on it to catch his breath. He frowned a little, and then pointed his want at the Hospital building.
"Conflo!" He shouted. Dumbledore taught them that rather powerful explosion spell, finally they could put it to use.
The other Aurors saw what he was doing and followed suit. That was the Auror style – follow orders first, ask questions later. Soon the entire outer wall was blasted away. The building stood dissected, spilling out all its interiors.
"ACCIO!" Kingsley shouted. Beds, tables, curtains, bedcovers, toilet seats … everything that can be moved were zooming towards him. He made a gesture for the others to do the same.
The Giants looked at scene dumbly. Tonks suddenly felt very thankful to God for making the Giants so stupid. They could have rushed at them while everyone were distracted. But no, the Giants where more distracted than they were.
Soon a mountain of furniture stood between the Aurors and the Giants. The Hospital was totally stripped. Tonks preyed silently for her plan to work, and then she pointed her wand at the nearest piece of wood.
"Incendio!"
Flames shot up, a meter high. The other Aurors did the same. Soon, the entire pile was blazing like hell. Tonks smiled in relief. She cast the Bubble Head charm on herself.
The plastic caught fire. Rolling black smoke drifted towards the sky. The entire area was saturated by a stinging, pungent smell. The smoke couldn't get out, it was contained within Silvia's dome shaped Shield as if in a fish tank. Hundreds of flammable furniture poured toxic smoke into the air, saturating it.
The smoke also had a bonus effect that Tonks didn't foresee. The Giants were clutching their throat, choking. Some were rolling of the floor struggling for breath.
Now was the perfect opportunity. Tonks sprang into action. She transformed her wand into the spear again and stabbed at the closest Giant. It only swatted at her helplessly, coughing. Other surviving Aurors were doing the same, hacking and hewing at the rolling bodies on the floor, until the soil turned red, soaked by blood.
It was clear that the Giants were losing. The battle again turned to a slaughter, this time Aurors hacked them down one by one, furious for revenge. Tonks felt sick watching the bloodshed, but she knew she couldn't afford to show remorse at this moment, for these creatures will spare her none.
The fight was not going well for Silvia. She underestimated the Quicksilver. For an hour they hovered, pouring flames against each other. The air around them was glowing pink prettily with the sheer amount of magical power saturated in it, the soft colour concealing the murderous aura within. She could see that Quicksilver was weakening. It could barely keep its eye open. Blood continued to ooze out of the wound sluggishly, only to evaporate under the heat Silvia's black flame was creating. Parts of the Quicksilver's snowy hide were bronzed by the hellish Blackfin fire, yet the dragon showed no signs of quitting.
It was a battle of wills. It was getting harder and harder for Silvia to keep the flame steady – the fire drained her magical reserve, zipping it out slowly but continually. She had to so something quickly, or she might die.
An idea struck her. It was an act of desperation almost to the point of stupidity. She didn't think twice on it.
Silvia changed. The moment before the Quicksilver's frosty breath hit her, she raised a BloodShield. She had saw Harry do it often enough to pick it up. Blood burst force from various wounds and formed a reddish semi-sphere that warded off the Dragon's breath. Silvia fell from the sky for several feet, and then she changed again.
The BloodShield suddenly disappeared. The Quicksilver's breath hit empty air. Suddenly the Blackfin reappeared below it out of nowhere, and plunged its spiked tail deep into Quicksilver's stomach.
The Quicksilver screamed again, the air around it turning into frost. It thrashed and twisted, pulling away. Then wound was deep. It wasn't enough to kill it, but it was in no form to fight now. With a last ferocious glare, it left, soaring in the wind unsteadily, splattering drops of blood like rain.
Silvia flapped her wings, and then she dived towards the ground. From above, the Hospital building appeared to be trapped inside a humongous fish tank filled with black smoke. Wisps of it were leaking out from an opening at the base. Fearing the worst, she smashed through her own shield, leaving a chasm behind where smoke rushed out.
The ashes were choking her. There was something about the smell that gave her a headache even as a dragon. It made her dizzy. She landed unsteadily with a muffled boom, and then immediately transformed to perform a Bubblehead charm. Silvia sincerely hoped that there were no more Giants. Death Eaters she could handle, but she had almost no strength left. Already, the effort of walking was making her faint with dizziness. Her leg shook slightly as she took a hesitant step. She raised a hand and cancelled her Shield.
Immediately the smoke began to clear. Like a mass of wriggly worm it rose into the sky, drowning out the dying sunlight.
What she saw then totally shocked her. There were about forty Aurors left alive, every one of them standing open mouthed, staring at the scene of carnage before them. Mutilated carcasses of Giants and Death Eaters littered the ground, their blood mingled, and their body parts dumped unceremoniously in small piles.
Tonks noticed Silvia. She squeaked, rushed towards her and threw her arms over her friend. Silvia couldn't respond. They had won, but it was utter butchery. Something stirred within her. Maybe it was because she stayed in her dragon form for too long, the bloodshed made her stomach grumble. She was starving. Tonks was saying something, she couldn't hear. Dizziness washed over her.
They've won the battle, Silvia registered numbly. She suddenly understood why so many giants were sent to attack St. Mungos instead of Death Eaters. Voldemort was trying to wear down Auror forces. Magical creatures were expendable assets to the Dark Lord, and he had almost unlimited supply of it. Now half of the ministry defense force was exhausted, if Voldemort invaded Hogwarts tomorrow, they would be in no condition to fight. It was a smart move for the Dark Lord, and they fell for it.
In winning this battle, they've risked the war.
A/N:
Late, I know. Sorry about that. Now that holidays have started, I'll update more frequently.
P.S. I have no idea what happened to the paragraphs and scene breaks.